Burn Me to Ashes in Your Arms
by cloudosaurus
Summary: Kirishima always topped (except with Bakugou, though he'd never expected to). [Self-deception, light masochism, possible emotional manipulation. KiriBaku.]


Until he committed himself to Bakugou, Kirishima had always topped. He never really thought about it; all his dates (or one-night stands, though he preferred more long-term relationships) seemed to expect him - _want_ him - to take the lead, to romance them, to make them feel warm and safe and _oh so_ full. And Kirishima had always been an obliging kind of guy. He liked doing things for others - liked making people happy. It felt nice. The tight heat around his cock that clenched and pulsed with immodest honesty, even as trembling hands scrambled to stifle heady moans that threatened to spill from spit-wet lips. Post-coital cuddling as a deliciously warm, helplessly pliant body snuggled into him, curled up against his broad chest so that their heartbeats became one, and told him that he was so, so wonderful and good. Because Kirishima lived to please.

Kirishima had always known that he would please Bakugou by taking him. By riding his big cock until his quivering legs gave out underneath him, and then letting Bakugou flip him over to fiercely pound into his ass with authority and determination and an undeniable sense of possession. But Kirishima liked that. If it - if _he_ \- could make Bakugou's frown and the deep lines between his furrowed brows disappear (because he never smiled, though one day, Kirishima swore, he'd make him), then Kirishima would all too gladly let beautiful Bakugou fuck him raw over and over again, until he was a wrecked mess; flushed redder than his hair from head to toe, covered with bruises and bites and sweat and sticky droplets of splattered cum.

Kirishima loved to suck Bakugou off; to take his hot, thick cock deeper than he ever thought he could, until his throat burned like he'd swallowed acid, and tears flowed from the corners of his glazed eyes to form a puddle on the floor of his dorm room, mingling with the drool that dripped from the corners of his painfully stretched mouth. Kirishima loved the sounds that Bakugou made in moments like this; soft noises and grunts and little moans that tore from the back of his throat against his will, before he yanked Kirishima's long hair hard enough to make him cry around his cock and then rammed into his mouth and down his throat and to his lungs, as if Kirishima were a tool designed just for him. Those sounds trickled down to Kirishima's ears like impossibly sweet music - full of unsaid approval and praise - even as snot and tears streaked down his hollowed cheeks, and he couldn't breathe because his nose was pressed against the coarse blond curls above Bakugou's throbbing cock. Kirishima lingered on those sweet sounds as Bakugou came - sometimes inside him, sometimes spurting hot seed across his face as if to mark him even more than he already had - and licked greedily at the salty cum that clung to his swollen lips. Occasionally, Kirishima came inside his own jeans (and burned with shame), completely untouched, still on his aching knees as he stared up at Bakugou, watching as his face twisted and knotted and finally melted into momentary bliss.

Like all things Bakugou did, he did Kirishima with unapologetic intensity. There were days when Kirishima couldn't train because his knees shook with every small step, and his insides were so sore that he had to bite into the hardened skin of his forearm to keep from crying out as he tried to go up a flight of stairs. There were days when Kirishima became flustered and ducked his head if called on in class, because it felt like razor sharp nails raked over the tender, abused tissue of his throat when he tried to speak. The sound that came out was low and hoarse and foreign as it fell on his ears. But as time passed and the days began to blur together, Kirishima became used to the sight of his red-stained underwear and the blood and mucous that he coughed up. He would spit into the sink, strangely fascinated by how the crimson beads seemed to glisten against the white porcelain, and then open the tap and watch them swirl down the drain. He willingly surrendered his body to watch Bakugou come undone, night after endless night. His expressions and sounds - only for Kirishima's eyes and ears, since _he_ was the one giving life to them - were more than worth it. Because Kirishima lived to please.

Kirishima didn't admit to himself that he liked how Bakugou was gentle, just to him, after fucking him senseless; until all that Kirishima was aware of was a pleasure that stung, and the feel and scent and taste of every inch of Bakugou's powerful body. That he liked it when Bakugou wiped his tears with the calloused pads of his thumbs, as if Kirishima were something fragile that could crumble in his cupped fingers, even though his muscles were lean and firm and strong, and he always impaled himself on Bakugou's long, hard cock with a bright smile. Kirishima didn't admit that he liked it when Bakugou peppered chaste butterfly kisses across his cheeks and down his jaw and on his open mouth with its bleeding, bitten lips as he pulled out of his entrance with a slick, wet pop; or when Bakugou wrapped a strong arm around his slim waist and drew him flush against his hot body before pulling the covers up around them.

Kirishima definitely didn't admit to himself that each time Bakugou asked him (voice deep but smooth like honey) if he was sure he wanted to keep going, he wriggled his hips and fluttered his lashes and begged Bakugou (voice high-pitched and needy) to fuck him harder and faster and rougher; to use his body until it was useless, and then some more. Because Kirishima lived to please, and sometimes Bakugou's dark eyes flashed with guilt as he watched his cock - streaked red with warm, wet blood - slide into and out of Kirishima's puckered hole that gripped him like a vice. And Kirishima also pretended not to notice how Bakugou flinched almost imperceptibly at every lewd squelch and slap of skin against skin.


End file.
